My grandparents had a working farm, where I spent a great deal of my childhood.

Like any other farm, there were many barnyard animals roaming around. One of those animals was a Rhode Island Red rooster named Pete. Pete instilled fear in all of the grandkids for a short time one summer. He would often give chase and send us running for our lives. He was even known to attack babies! Needless to say, he turned up as dinner one night at a very young age.

In spite of Pete, one of my favorite things to do was collect the eggs from the chickens. I vividly remember my grandfather showing me how to collect the eggs when I was 9.

I was terrified to reach under that chicken with the great huge beak and red eyes, but I was even more afraid of disappointing my grandfather.

Without a moments hesitation and trembling hand, I reached under the chicken and gently brought out a speckled, brown egg. I handed it to my grandfather, beaming with pride. I hadn't fooled him though, he knew I had been frightened and told me how proud he was of me.

I suffered from anxiety and my grandfather had inadvertently (or perhaps not) given me the courage to concur my fears.